


Life is Strange: Partners in Time

by TheClown



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Best Friends, Childhood Friends, Cliffhangers, Detectives, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Friendship, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Forgiveness, Friendship, Hugs, Hurt, Kissing, Loss, Love, Multi, OTP Feels, Rewind Powers (Life Is Strange), Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27655169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheClown/pseuds/TheClown
Summary: "Imagine if you had the power to go back in time and change every bad thing, every bad decision, every wrong word."Max Caulfield is an average senior student who returns to her hometown Arcadia Bay, Oregon, after a 5 year absence. But one day, her entire world turns upside down as she discovers she has the power to rewind time when she saves her childhood best friend, Chloe, from being killed. Reunited, the pair will attempt to uncover the truth behind the mysterious disappearance of fellow student Rachel Amber, discovering a dark side of Arcadia Bay in the process, learn where did Max's powers come from and find a way to stop the terrifying storm that starts to haunt her in her dreams.Novelisation of "Life is Strange" game.
Relationships: Alyssa Anderson & Warren Graham, Dana Ward & Juliet Watson, Dana Ward/Trevor Yard, Kate Marsh & Chloe Price, Mark Jefferson & Nathan Prescott, Maxine "Max" Caulfield & Chloe Price, Maxine "Max" Caulfield & Kate Marsh, Maxine "Max" Caulfield & Warren Graham, Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price, Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Warren Graham, Rachel Amber & Chloe Price, Rachel Amber & Nathan Prescott, Rachel Amber/Nathan Prescott, Victoria Chase & Nathan Prescott, Victoria Chase/Nathan Prescott, Warren Graham/Brooke Scott, Zachary Riggins/Juliet Watson
Kudos: 1





	Life is Strange: Partners in Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! So this is something I've been working on for a while. This is my novelisation of one of my favourite games of all time - Life is Strange. The plot and events will happen mostly the same way they do in the game but that being said, I won't be blindly following the game script - some of the events and dialogues will be slightly changed or expanded (or both) because, of course, some things that work great in games, don't work in the novels. I've decided to write it from Max's first person point of view, simply because I believe this format fits this story the best. I hope you'll like it.

_"I'm so glad you're my partner in crime."_

_"As long as you're my partner in time."_

\- **Maxine Caulfield** and **Chloe Price** , _Life is Strange_

The first thing I felt was darkness. Eternal, overwhelming and suffocating like the ones in fantasy books, desperately trying to capture me in it's tentacles and never let go. Then, slowly, some of my senses started to come back. I knew I was lying on my stomach, cold, muddy ground against my cheek. A strong wind was trying to pull me in all directions at once while cold drops of rain were bombarding my body like a thousand little needles. Even through my closed eyelids I registered thunder exploding above me.

Finally, my vision started to clear like a photo developed in a darkroom (trust me, I know this stuff). Carefully opening my eyes, I raised my head, looking around me. Soaked, I was lying on weirdly familiar pathway in the middle of the forest. It was raining heavily while the trees were bending dangerously, putting up a desperate fight against the wind. Thunder exploded once more, illuminating the surrounding with blue-white light.

 _Where am I? What's happening?_ Slowly, I managed to stood up. _I'm trapped in a storm? How did I get here?... and... where is "here"?_ I started turning from left to right and back again, confused and lost like a deer caught in the headlights.

As the forest was lighted up once again, I realized that occasional thunders weren't the only source of light. I looked up and large shadow towering above the trees caught my attention, my eyes widening at a sight of tall, white building on the top of the hill.

_A lighthouse... There's a lighthouse!... I'll be safe if I can make it there... I hope... Please let me make it there..._

I lifted my left arm in weak attempt to protect myself from the wind and started walking up the path, taking cautious steps as the wind kept throwing rain and leaves right at me like it was purposely trying to stop me from reaching the top. I still couldn't believe what was happening. Everything around looked so dull and gray as if somebody put a gray filter on camera lens, drying out all colors and life from the world.

Soon, I stumbled upon wooden steps and noticed a wooden sign in front of me. Written on it was:

_**⬅ Lighthouse** _

I looked at the small, barely visible, insignificant sign, then at the giant lighthouse which was literally covering half of the horizon.

 _Are you serious? Thanks, I would never guess it._ I couldn't not shake my head, passing the sign. Trees didn't deserve to be wasted and turned into something so useless and unnecessary.

Finally, against all the odds and among occasional lightning flashes of both thunders and lighthouse, I managed to reach the top of the hill. Ahead of me was the lighthouse and on the left from it the trees were parting to reveal the cliff edge and…

And then I saw it.

_Holy shit._

It looked like one of those paintings depicting The Great Flood that I had seen when I was little. A massive tornado, at least two times bigger than the whole town, was slowly making its way toward my city, Arcadia Bay, accompanied by thunders, black clouds and raging sea all around it. I could already see cars, houses and trees on the coastline being ripped from the streets and sucked into the tornado, joining it in its terrifying march toward thousands of innocent people.

Suddenly, a small boat, which apparently had been lifted and sucked up into the storm, escaped the whirl and, accelerated by the tornado, was thrown right at the lighthouse. I watched in horror as it hit the peak of the building and broke it in two. Its light went out as the entire upper portion slowly crumbled and started to fall… straight in my direction.

 _Whoa! No!_ Frozen in terror, I opened my mouth to scream, but before I could make any sound, the familiar darkness had once again caught me in its claws.

* * *

_Wowser!_

I woke up, throwing my head back and jumping in my chair. Breathing slowly, I looked around, carefully examining my surrounding. And as I expected, I was still in the art classroom at Mr. Jefferson's lecture with the rest of the students. No forests, lighthouses, or giant storms. Just good, old, bland reality.

_That was sooo surreal._

"Alfred Hitchcock famously called film, 'little pieces of time'," said Mr. Jefferson, "but he could be talking about photography, as he likely was..."

 _Okay... I'm in class…_ , I thought, trying to calm down as I watched Stella, who had been twirling her pencil so much it had fallen on the floor, reaching down. _Everything's cool... I'm okay…_

"...these pieces of time can frame us in our glory and our sorrow; from light to shadow; from-"

Alright, pause. Cut. Or whatever.

This is that moment in movies or cartoons when time stops, entire world turns gray and the main character (who somehow stays in color) starts talking to the audience. So "allow me to introduce myself" or whatever that meme goes.

My name is Max Caulf-

...

_*sigh*_

Okay, fine, _Maxine_ Caulfield. But never call me that, alright? It's Max, never Maxine.

So, my name is ~~Maxine~~ Max Caulfield, I'm 18-year-old senior at Blackwell Academy and ever since I was a little kid I'd known I wanted to be a photographer. I'd always seen the world through my own lens finder. Maybe it was a way for me to be part of the world, but at a safe distance. But even though I was an official adult now, I honestly didn't feel wise or mature.

For some reason I was always drawn to old analog camera gear rather than digital tech. I loved all kinds of styles and techniques but for me, the instant camera selfie was the one I loved the most. I didn't care if people made fun of me because of that or not. And now I'd come all the way back to my childhood home, Arcadia Bay, to study photography at Blackwell Academy, a private school for 12th grade seniors. On a scholarship even!

I guess that's enough exposition for now, don't you think? So, let's get back to the story. And… action!

"...these pieces of time can frame us in our glory and our sorrow; from light to shadow; from color to chiaroscuro…"

As my heartbeat finally returned to normal, I took a deep breath and looked at the scene in front of me.

Sitting on the edge of a table in the middle of the class was my teacher, Mark Jefferson. Not only was he one of the best photographers in the world, he was also one of the main reasons I'd wanted to come to Blackwell. I mean, how often do you get to be mentored by one of your inspirations? He was pretty hip for his age, but kinda aloof and sometimes pretentious. He had this smug smile when he thought he was right, but I believed he was preparing us for how tough it is to be a full time "artist". He often acted like he understood my own work and obsession with analog images which was very comforting.

On the right, there was Kate Marsh, who was probably one of the kindest and the purest souls in the entire Blackwell (if not the world). So naturally, she had to be bullied and made fun of because, you know, this world SUCKS.

She was sitting on her own under the window with her head down, her eyes blurry and red. She was looking straight at the teacher but I could tell she wasn't really perceiving anything in front of her. As I watched, Taylor (we'll get to her later) threw small paper ball which smacked right into Kate's forehead and dropped behind her as she clapped a hand to her face, desperately trying to hold back tears.

And of course, on the left there was Victoria Chase, the elite queen bee of Blackwell Academy, and a total bitch. And I hate saying that. I just didn't know why somebody who was so rich and beautiful needed to be so fucking mean. 18 year olds at a prestigious academy should be evolving into artists and scholars, right? Not reality show contestants. Victoria did everything for maximum drama. She kept wasting her time calling me out in class and taunting Kate.

The odd thing was that she did know art and photography. She could even say all those French names that'd break my tongue. Her work was a little cold, but she had a good eye (then again, who am I to judge?).

I noticed that her phone rang but she was too focused on Mr. Jefferson to notice (consider it a foreshadowing to what I'm about to tell you later. Advice - prepare paper bags because it'll be grose).

"Now," said the teacher, getting up, "can you give me an example of a photographer who perfectly captured the human condition in black and white?"

I tried to pay attention, I really did, but my mind kept coming back to that dream. There was just something not right about all this. I was sitting in the middle of the students, right in front of the teacher. And yeah, I knew that time logic of dreams is messed up but I was pretty sure I'd been out for at least a minute. How come nobody noticed me drifting off?

_So I didn't fall asleep, and... that sure didn't feel like a dream... Strange._

"Anybody?" Mr. Jefferson looked around the classroom. "Bueller?" he prompted.

Victoria's hand shot into the air. "Diane Arbus," she answered with a smirk.

 _Like a snake_. I flinched.

"There you go, Victoria." The teacher snapped his fingers. "Why Arbus?"

"Because of her images of hopeless faces." She put a hand on her heart in a truly theatrical gesture. "You feel like, totally haunted by the eyes of those sad mothers and children."

"She saw humanity as tortured, right? And frankly, it's bullshit. Shh, keep that to yourself," he quickly added, smiling when some of the students chuckled.

I sighed and looked at the photograph under my notebook, the entry photo for the upcoming "Everyday Hero" contest. In it, I was in my room, facing the wall covered with dozens of my photographs, camera capturing me from behind.

_Look at this crap! How can I show this to Mr. Jefferson? I can practically hear the class laughing at me now. But Mr. Jefferson really expects me to enter. Why? I don't know if I am ready for my 15 minutes of infamy..._

Yeah, as you probably already guessed my level of self-confidence was not impressive.

"I have to admit, I'm not a big fan of her work," continued Victoria, still smiling at the teacher. "I prefer... Robert Frank."

"Me too, Victoria," he agreed. "He captured the essence of post-war, beat America. And there was honesty about the economic conditions of the era, but a beauty in the struggle. You don't have beauty without a beat. Which explains why Frank was Kerouac's photographic muse and both were the great chroniclers of the 1950's. Well... We've all seen that iconic shot of Kerouac on the balcony, and if you haven't, shame, shame, capturing the romantic urban solitude of the 20th century poet. You dig?"

In a weak attempt to distract myself from this horrible excuse for a photo, I moved my gaze to my pink pencil case covered in stickers and with pendant with some yellow neckless troll-thing or something (never thought about it too much). _I can't believe I still have this pencil case. Maybe I should upgrade to the 21st century. But… I like old-school._

Or maybe I just hated changes.

"...now, contrast Frank's stark Americana, with Salvador Dali's surrealist photographs. Like Cocteau, he was a true renaissance man, and his famous self-portraits are famous early examples of that truly awful word you pesky kids love so much, the 'selfie'... And it's a great tradition, and I wholeheartedly fight for your right to self-expression. Or selfie-expression. Heh, sorry, I know, I know..."

My eyes fell on another notebook on the table. _I haven't kept up with my journal as much as I should_ , I thought. It was the keeper of all my secrets and fears (mostly the latter) and had been my only real friend since my return to Arcadia Bay. _Man, if anybody else looked at this, what would they think? "Maxine Weirdofield sucks!" was probably the closest shot._

"...so if anybody wants to question the portrait as modern narcissism, they could go back hundreds of years to blame society..."

I turned my head slightly to the left and smiled at the sight of my old polaroid camera. Yeah, I knew that 21st century belonged to digital cameras and all this new fancy technology but I still preferred the analogue, and the instant. _I should take a quick picture now_ , I thought, reaching for the device.

"...seriously though, I could frame any one of you in a dark corner, and capture you in a moment of desperation…"

My hand slipped. Completely out of nowhere, my heart stopped for a second and then started beating like crazy. Chills ran through my entire body as if somebody poured a bucket of cold water on my back while my breath dangerously sped up again. My vision blurred so much I shut eyes tight and bit my lower lip, putting a hand against my forehead. _Again? Why? What is happening?_

"...and any one of you could do that to me. Isn't that too easy? Too obvious? What if Arbus chose to capture people at the height of their beauty or innocence? She had a brilliant eye, so she could have taken another approach..."

And suddenly everything returned to normal. Just like that. _What the heck was that?_ I groaned in disbelief. Wowser, add this to the list of today's unexplainable things. I seriously needed to take some headache pills after that class.

"...anyway, I bet you thought I'd talk all the way until the bell rang. Well, now it's your turn to lecture us. Based on the chapters I have no doubt you all memorized, who can tell me the name of the actual process that led to the birth of the self-portrait? Anybody?"

Okay, now I really needed that selfie. Just to change my mood back from "horrible" to "down". I picked up my camera again, this time without any weird PTSD-like attacks. Quickly, I turned it around under my desk and pressed the button. Unfortunately, the noise of the device didn't go unnoticed by Mr. Jefferson.

"Shh," The teacher raised his hands. "I believe Max has taken what you kids call a 'selfie'. A dumb word for a wonderful photographic tradition. And Max... has a gift. Of course, as you all know, the photo portrait has been popular since the early 1800's. Your generation was not the first to use images for 'selfie-expression'. Sorry," he added as majority of the students rolled their eyes.  
"I couldn't resist. The point remains that the portraiture has always been a vital aspect of art, and photography, for as long as it's been around. Now, Max," he turned his attention back to me and I froze, "since you've captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?"

"You're asking me?" I felt my cheeks turning red and I was pretty sure my voice sounded like elementary student caught on sleeping during the class (which right now was pretty ironic if you think about it). "Let me think… um… I did know… but I kinda... forgot."

_Excellent Max, excellent. Ten points… out of a hundred._

"You either know this or not, Max." Mr. Jefferson tapped the table, clearly disappointed in me and looked around. "Is there anybody here who knows their stuff?"

Victoria's hand shot into the air once again (what a surprise!).

"Louis Daguerre was a French painter who created 'daguerreotypes', a process that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror," she answered, evidently pleased that she knew the answer again.

 _"Louis Daguerre was a French painter who created 'daguerreotypes', a process that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror,"_ I repeated in my mind. It sounded like one of those things that, once you hear them, get stuck somewhere at the bottom of your mind and then come back on some random occasions.

Meanwhile, Victoria turned around and gave me a smile that could rival that of a basilisk. "Now you're totally stuck in the Retro Zone. Sad face."

Normally I'd say that this comment ruined my mood but hey, you can't ruin something that's already ruined, right? So, yeah, that was one good thing about this lecture.

Taylor laughed. Oh, right, I forgot about her. Sorry, it's just so hard to describe someone who doesn't have its own personality. Anyway, you know how in the TV shows the popular, mean girl always has her bland, plastic-face helpers who only nod at everything she says and laugh when she laughs? Yup, that's Taylor in all her nonexistent glory.

"Very good, Victoria," said Mr. Jefferson. "The Daguerreian Process brought out fine detail in people's faces, making them extremely popular from the 1800's onward. The first American daguerreotype self-portrait was done by Robert Cornelius. You can find out all about him in your textbook. Or even... online." Then the bell rang, which finally meant the end of one of the weirdest classes in my life. "And guys, don't forget the deadline to submit a photo in the "Everyday Heroes" contest! I'll fly out with the winner to San Francisco where you'll be feted by the art world." He spread his arms like he was trying to present to us all the possibilities. "It's great exposure, and it can kickstart a career in photography. So, Stella and Alyssa, get it together. Taylor, don't hide. I'm still waiting for your entry, too. And yes, Max," he added, suddenly turning to me. "I see you pretending not to see me."

Jefferson walked to his desk, immediately followed by Victoria, who left gathering her stuff like her expensive electronic tablet and Greenlit GRLT-64s camera ( _She has better equipment than Blackwell!_ ) to Taylor and started some, most likely, pointless conversation which only purpose was to stand at the very short distance from Mr. Jefferson.

 _Man, she doesn't waste a second kissing ass._ I rolled my eyes, standing up. As always during gathering my stuff into my old school bag I tried not to look at the cupboards standing against the wall. They were full of various cameras and tripods - both the newest generations' and old classics. Staring at them always put me in a strange zombie-like state where my only thought was "I want".

...

Doesn't sound very healthy.

Anyway, instead of that I just glanced at the back of classroom where there were cover pictures of issues of various magazines like Pop Vine or Synapse. They were all done by Mr. Jefferson. It was so amazing to see his actual published pictures. Looking at them was always giving me hope that maybe... you know...

And right in the middle was our photography class group photo. At front row, from left to right, were Victoria, Hayden Jones, Alyssa Anderson, me and Taylor. And at back row were Daniel DaCosta, Stella Hill and Kate. I had to admit, even though I initially didn't want to be in this picture at all, it was fairly fucking cool to watch Mr. Jefferson at work framing us.

As I walked to the door, I looked out the windows on the left. It was the beginning of October, my favorite month and the best weather of the year, if you ask me. I loved watching the leaves change color, turning into tiny flames. But it was still too damn hot ( _thanks, global warming_ ) and I couldn't bust out the big coats and sweaters or scary movies maratons yet. And as a photographer I just loved that panoramic view of Blackwell – that peaceful combination and contrast of green and orange of the trees' leaves with the white bark of birch-trees.

My gaze fell on the table where Mr. Jefferson had been sitting. Apparently, someone had carved an inscription on it before:

**RACHEL AMBER**

**\- ♡ -**

**4FOREVER**

  
  
_Rachel Amber... Where have I heard that name before? Sounds familiar. Anyway, this might make a cool shot_ , I realized, pulling out my polaroid and taking a quick photo of it.

What? I know, photographing the inscriptions on the tables doesn't sound professional, but the beauty of the photo is an interesting thing - it's hard to describe, you never know where it might hide, sometimes you won't notice it right away and sometimes you're actually the only one who can see it. So it's always better to take ten shots and throw out eight failed ones than to take just two and lose three good ones.

Hmm, that would be the second good thing about this lecture. Positivity, yay.

But then I noticed that besides me and Victoria, there was one other person that hadn't left the classroom yet.

Kate was still sitting in her chair, her eyes puffy and red, rubbing her temple with one hand and giving the notebook on her desk the same bland stare she'd been giving Mr. Jefferson during the lecture.

_Man, she looks so sad and quiet today. What happened?_

Seeing her like this was breaking my heart. She reminded me of a withering plant that had lost all its beauty and radiance. I almost forgot how she used to look at the beginning of the year - happy, enthusiastic and positive, ready to start a new chapter in her life.

Just like me.

"Hi, Kate." I stood next to her. "Everything's alright? You seem quiet today, I hope I didn't embarrass you with my lame answer."

"Oh, hi Max." Her voice was as empty and devoid of life as her gaze. "No, no, I'm… just thinking too much… It sucks to be dragged into the spotlight, doesn't it?"

"Unless you're Victoria," I pointed out. "I think she has already won the contest... as usual."

"Hey, if you ask me, she's got nothing on you, Max." For a moment there was a spark of life is her eyes.

"Um, thanks, I appreciate it." I smiled. "Want to go grab a cup of tea and bitch about life?"

The spark disappeared like a flame from blown out candle. "Thank you, but not today. I… have to go over homework."

"Oh, okay, no worries." I decided not to point out that Mr. Jefferson didn't give us any homework today. "See you later."

"Sure." She gave me another fake smile and returned to her fake homework, again making her look more like a wax figure rather than a person.

It was then that I noticed the paper ball that Taylor had thrown at her earlier lying few feet behind her chair. I quickly picked it up and unfolded it.

_**Dear Kate,**_

_**W** **e love your** _ _**porn video.** _

_**Xoxo Blackwell♡**_

_**Academy** _

_Now I wish I wouldn't have read this. Purge_. Without hesitation, I squashed it back and threw it into the nearest trashcan. _How could anyone write something like this. And to Kate? Everyone know she's the last person in this school to… God, why do people do this kind of things to each other?_

I really wanted to get out of this classroom.

But I had to talk to Mr. Jefferson. I knew that if I tried to leave without it, he would notice and then I would have to talk to him during the next lesson, but it would be way worse because he would be mad that I'd left without talking to him today and… eh, you get the point. It's like ripping off a bandage. The quicker, the better. So, anyway, he was at the front of the class with-

_Ah, Jesus…_

Victoria was leaning over the teacher's desk, staring straight into Mr. Jefferson's eyes and moving her entire body (but particularly the parts below the waist) in a slow and very seductive way.

So, just in case some of you still hadn't figured it out _(how?_ ), Victoria had an eye for Mr. Jefferson. The "I want to sleep with you to become famous" kind of eye ( _insert a vomiting emoji here_ ).

Actually, scratch that, I can do it myself. Oh, here it is: 🤢🤮

I could never understand it. And I didn't want to. Like, sure, you could have a crush on your teacher, I get it. Even I had to admit that Mr. Jefferson was quite handsome. But to actually fantasize about going to bed with him and seducing him? Ughhhh, disgusting. And it was all so obvious that I almost felt bad for her. With an emphasis on "almost".

"Excuse me, Mr. Jefferson, can I talk to you for a moment?" I asked, approaching them and immediately earning a furious glare from Victoria.

"Yes, excuse you, Max," she hissed (yup, hissed), angrily.

_Take a snickers, Victoria. Oh God, did I really just though that?_

"No, Victoria, excuse us," said Mr. Jefferson, turning to me with encouraging smile. "I'd never let one of photography's future stars avoid handing in her picture, right Max?" He looked at me expectantly.

"Um, but do I have to?" I stared at my shoes like they freaking turned gold or something. "I just don't think it's that big a deal. Besides, I didn't have any time... Way too much homework," I added hoping that would convince him.

It didn't ( _could you cooperate with me for once, universe?_ ).

"Max, you're a better photographer than a liar…" He crossed his arms on his chest. "Now, I know it's a drag to hear some old dude lecture you... but life won't wait for you to play catch-up. You're young, the world is yours, blah blah blah, right? But you do have a gift, you have the fever to take images, to frame the world only the way you envision it. Now, all you need is the courage to share your gift with others. That's what separates the artist from the amateur. So just... try to think about it carefully for some time before you'll make your final decision about entering, alright?" he finished with the same voice with which he always ended his lectures.

Victoria must have noticed this too because she immediately focused her gaze back on the teacher, resuming their early conversation. During my talk with Mr. Jefferson she did nothing but ignored me, leaning against the teacher's desk and watching her nails. _Is she trying to win some sort of award for scoring all cliches?_ I shook my head, walking past her to the door.

Then something caught my attention. There were few photos put on the class board. Some showed animals, other Arcadia Bay's nature - rivers, beaches and… the forest alongside the lighthouse. Even in pictures and despite the photo being taken during a clear, sunny day, it still looked mysterious. Chills ran down my spine and I had to admit, for a moment I actually expected the photo to turn into a magic whirl and suck me back into that stormy nightmare like in that one "The Chronicles of Narnia" book.

_You can never escape the lighthouse here..._

I shook my head. _Get it together Max! This is real life, not some fantasy book or a video game!_

I turned around and walked through the door, leaving the art classroom behind and preparing to face something that, honestly, scared me much more than Victoria, "Everyday Hero" contest or even the lighthouse.

_Welcome to the real world, Max._

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Please, feel free to comment and share your thoughts no matter how long it's been since publishing. I love reading people's reactions. And of course, leave kudos if you liked it!
> 
> 2\. Max's thoughts and opinions about certain things or people come from inscriptions in her Journal, Diary and character notes.
> 
> 3\. English is NOT my first language so I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes.


End file.
